This pretty-much-a-band is run by a pair of older (non-Asian, just point of order) London-based representatives of the new breed of electroids envisioning synth operations as rock n roll spectacles. They made a few heads turn in the States two albums ago with 2007’s Transparent Things, a collection of understated, soggy throb-and-glitch that evoked Aphex Twin and things of that sort. The pair have professed lots of love for the ’70s in the past, realized here through Bowie/Roxy Music melodies and half-spoken Donovan Leach vocals, the loops at one point wandering off on an Iron Butterfly-style tangent in “Cat Got Your Tongue.” Hope as these guys might, though, there’s nothing glam, or even loud, about this, and this album’s reviewers will be mumbling about kraut-rock, same as they did back in 2007 — “Pills” is simply “Ankle Injuries” on a mild steroid. But such quibbles about hardness in what’s obviously a Donovan-meets-LCD Soundsystem effort is all academic — this is very soothing drone, grown-up background patter for Generation Rohypnol.